


I Pray We Were Better Strangers

by jesterlady



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Comedy, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-09
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterlady/pseuds/jesterlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Topher's at the grocery store and sees Ballard</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Pray We Were Better Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was inspired by a comment Fran Kranz made at a panel where he said he wished we could see something totally random like Topher's just out grocery shopping and looks up and who should be there but Ballard? I thought it was a good idea. LA's not that big, right?  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Dollhouse. The title is from a play by William Shakespeare

Topher didn't leave the Dollhouse very often. Why would he need to with so many things of entertainment around, five star cuisine available from the kitchen, and Ivy to run out and get those little unhealthy things that are so necessary in life? He had a bed in the back, though he did much prefer his one at home. What else was there? The Dollhouse was his world, a flawed, sometimes violent one, but a world where he could be himself and a genius and not have to worry about the consequences.

Occasionally he wondered about what would happen if it was ever found out, if the urban myth was ever proved true, if society ever got off its ass and did something about the horrors it so eloquently denounced but never fought against. He didn't worry often. That was a job for Dominic or DeWitt or unknown Rossum suits. He just played with his toys and listened with open ears to secrets he wasn't meant to know. Like Alpha worries or an FBI agent poking his nose where it didn't belong, and Dolls glitching with increasing rapidity.

But sometimes Topher left the world of the Dollhouse behind. Sometimes he got to live a normal life. Sometimes Ivy just wouldn't go where he wanted her to. Which is why he was in a grocery store of all places and pushing a cart filled with things his mother told him would kill him. He didn't worry about that. He worried about all the time he was losing being here, doing the mundane tasks of life, jobs reserved for people who were not him.

He whistled softly as he reached the juice aisle, the kid in him delighted by the juice box variety available. He glanced up idly and then hastened to turn around. Paul frakking Ballard was right in front of him, perusing the types of juice available. The FBI agent who would beat him senseless and lock him up if he only knew. If he only knew. Topher straightened up. The other man had never seen him, couldn't possibly have any clue as to his fellow shopper's connection to the Dollhouse.

He still felt panicky. His greatest enemy was five feet away, apparently settling on Mango-banana, and his respect for the man plummeted a little. Topher wasn't meant for things like this. He was the science guy, the man behind the gray matter curtain, the person most likely to not get a bullet in the head or take responsibility for anything. And he didn't know if his heart could take adrenaline rushes like this. It made him glad that he could slink up the aisle, laugh inwardly at the unsuspecting dupe, pay for his purchases with a Dollhouse credit card, and never have to leave the safety of his lab again.

“Excuse me?”

Topher froze.

“W-what?” he asked, barely looking at the man.

“Do you know where I could find the organic section?”

Organic, of course, he wanted organic, the ninny.

“I-I don't work here, man.”

“Oh, sorry, just...the vest.”

Topher looked down at his clothes. Slightly out of fashion, maybe, but grocery store clerk material, hardly. Right?

“It's a-okay,” Topher said, way too brightly, even for him. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Paul Ballard turned away and Topher started to breathe, pretty sure that the word Dollhouse had somehow become etched on his forehead. He walked quickly to the front of the store, paid, and left, heading in the wrong direction before he even noticed. But then he congratulated himself on his subconscious mind obviously trying to throw off any pursuit, despite the almost hundred percent surety of that not being likely.

It would still make a great story to tell Ivy when he got back. While she unloaded the groceries.


End file.
